Dirty Jobs: Hoho's Style
by yoo-hoo luver.wlegs
Summary: When his wife insists he get a real job to feed his family, Hoho is forced to take a round of...illuminating jobs. It appears that the economic problems hit Amestris too! I digress... Spoilers for the recent chapters of the manga
1. Neon Sign

**Disclaimer: I own goose eggs! That is to say, nothing from FMA.**

Among the crowded streets of central, the ponytailed man trudged pass the merry holiday shoppers. His hands in his pockets, they did not know his shame. Had he been the provider Tricia expected perhaps he would not be in this situation of embarrassment.

Her expressive eyes had been set in two narrow slits of undiluted anger as she shoved the monthly bills under his nose that morning. Alphonse was crying in his crib and Ed was throwing Hoenheim's screwdriver against the wall with gleeful giggles. Yet with chaos surrounding her, his wife stared him down, fit to murder. With three small words, Tricia had set upon him the task: "Get. A. Job." He had mouths to feed and since his alchemy was not paying the bills, he was reduced to this for he did not possess many marketable skills beyond alchemy.

Arriving at his work place, Mr. Elric heaved a sigh and popped a lozenge in his mouth. He would need his voice for all its worth. Firmly, he grasped the tall white pillar with hands glowing a faint red. When he had shimmied to the top of the pillar, he leaned his body out over the crowd while his arms and legs looped around the column in front of "Crazy Potatoeater's Hat Emporium".

Taking a deep breath, the philosopher's stone-who was known to emit pretty lights-opened his mouth to earn his bread. "BOGO HATS! GET YOUR BOGO HATS HERE! BUY ONE GET ONE FREE!"

**Dedication: I owe this fic partially to my roomie, GemEncrustedEarth, who so kindly pointed out that Hoenheim emits pretty lights. And also I shoot a dedication to my high school pal Nickle who helped me come up with Hoho's jobs.**


	2. lightbulb that turns on when we get idea

The coffee bar in East City was known to be a hub of new, wonderful and some may have even argued dangerous ideas. In the dingy walls, every demographic gathered to share more than coffee and a light meal. Hohenheim stood in a corner, partially hidden by the dim lighting and partially from the thick cloud of smoke that rose from the patrons' many cigarettes. He did not speak to any of the patrons but listened intently to every single conversation in the bar.

His former job as a neon sign was a distant memory. When his wife had brought his sons to Central for the first visit in over a month and Ed claimed that the shouting sign looked a lot like Daddy, Hohenheim knew it was time for a career change. And so he quit, much to the chagrin of Crazy Potatoeater, moved closer to Resembol and took up his current job.

From the other end of the room, it appeared that someone was about to reach a revelation and the down-on-his luck philosopher's stone made his move swiftly. Practically running, he weaved through the many chairs and after tripping once, managed to take his place behind a watery eyed young man. The red glow from Hohenheim illuminated the room and he cried out in a short high tone, "BING!"

Within a moment the young man stood up and extending his pointer finger up in the air cried, "Eureka!! Squirrels hide their nuts for future use!!!"

The barista from behind the counter gave Hoho a satisfied nod and the Philosopher's Stone quietly returned to his corner. Although some ideas that were thought of in the bar _were_ profound, seven out of eight were insignificant. And so Hohenheim disappeared in the gloom and smoke of the coffee bar to await another great idea, all the while wondering how could a being with unlimited power be reduced to this.

**A/N: So once again, insomnia causes things to pop up from the dead...like daisies!! I want to thank the reviewers and hitters...thanks...and look at the televangelist quizzically... ANYWHOO...as I alluded to, it's ten til 4am so I'm sorry if my writing mechanics are wonky....Apparently Jesus can't call God 'daddy'? Back on track...anywhoo, I find that drabbley fics are quick writes so I intend to update this guy once a week. Good luck to me. Eitherway, please review so my hilarious grogginess is rewarded. **


	3. Toaster

Hoenheim's frown deepened as a couple of visiting tourists in Hawaiian shirts snapped photos of him holding their bagel, one half in each hand. He hated this current job. The idea bulb gig wasn't very long lived. Although the running around the room gave Hoenheim great legs, he got fed up with some of the more idiotic revelations he had to light up for. The coffee bar manager sacked him one night as when the extremely drunken man with the revelation revealed that 'it's grab with your left, shake with your right', Hoenheim punched the drunkard for being an idiot.

But this current gig was no better, in fact he thought it could be worse. The tourists snapped another picture and Hoenheim kept his eyes on the bagel halves as they ever so slowly turned a golden brown. He kept remembering why he was submitting himself to such humiliation: his family needed him to support them even if it meant…this. The tourists were taking pictures next to him and the bakery owned bagel cart. All the while he kept thinking the names of his sons and his wife yet his patience was waning.

After what seemed to be an eternity, he set the bagel halves down and informed the tourists who were snapping shots of an authentic East City pigeon, that their bagels were done. But the woman, a rail of a thing with a nose that could double as a stirring spoon, spoke up. "But you got to say it!" She whined to Hoho as she turned to her husband to confirm what she said, "Doesn't he have to say it? Say it!"

Hoenheim rolled his eyes and said in a flat tone, "Ding your bagel is done."

"No, no, no, no, no." the woman tisked, "Say it with vigor."

"Ding your bagel is done." He repeated with an obvious fake cheerfulness.

"Come now, don't say it if you don't mean it. What kind of professional are you…" She kept talking, rambling about how street vending was supposed to be an art and an act. With each word the image of his blissful family counting on him began to wane only to be replaced with raw rage until he couldn't take it anymore.

The philosopher's stone threw the bagel halves at the tourists' heads and yelled manically, "Ding, your bagel is done!" The woman screamed in shock and horror and grabbed Marty and quickly walked away as Hoenheim grabbed more bagels to lob at them.

Half way down the block and ten to fifteen thrown bagels later, Hoenheim decided to retire from his brief stint as a human toaster in order to further preserve his sanity. Of course that meant he had to find another job. Three mouths would not feed themselves.

**A/N: Two chaps in one week! Gasp! I'm heading on vacation this upcoming week and I want to be true to my word so here is an early present.**

**Dedication: This chap is dedicated to GemEncrustedEarth for making the current vacation possible. :)**


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